


Ready

by missbip0lar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Communication, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Happy Birthday Yuri Plisetsky, Lap Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunions, Rimming, Sequel, Sex as a Spiritual Experience, Surprise Visits, this was just an excuse to write their first time tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10035383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbip0lar/pseuds/missbip0lar
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is ready.A continuation ofthis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an unbeta'd sequel/continuation to my last work, [Pillow Talk,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9609623) but can be read as a standalone fic. 
> 
> Come cry with me on [my tumblr.](http://sectumsempbro.tumblr.com)

**April, St Petersburg**

Some nights, Yuri can't sleep. Yakov keeps telling him it's because of the energy drinks he likes, but Yuri's not convinced. A kid his age shouldn't be living their entire life at 300 kilometers an hour, but he does. At the end of the day he's wound so tightly that sleep eludes him. He has too much on his mind, too many ideas and thoughts left unspoken. So on these nights he calls Beka. Some nights just his voice is enough to quiet the storm in his mind. Some nights he needs to see Beka's face. 

It's lucky for Yuri that they both have iPhones. FaceTime is a gift Yuri's relatively certain he would die without. He should feel bad sometimes for calling Beka as late as he does, but he just can't bring himself to when Beka's voice is rough around the edges and his eyes still blurry with interrupted sleep. It makes him yearn for nights spent close together, for early mornings spent arguing over coffee and standing together at the bathroom sink while they brush their teeth. Yuri would never voice these longings aloud, of course; he's no fool. Their friendship is the first Yuri has ever felt wholly invested in, and he's self aware enough to understand that he has nothing to compare it to - the feelings he has could go away in time, there's no way to know for sure if his feelings really are romantic or if he's just blowing platonic feelings out of proportion. 

Regardless, Beka is easy to talk to, even in the middle of the night when his mind is racing and his words refuse to cooperate. The best part of these late night calls, though, is that they never discuss skating or school or anything that might be a source of stress. Instead they talk about the most inane shit, from the modifications Beka's been making on his bike to music and books and movies they've discovered since the last time they talked. Beka sometimes tells him about family outings he takes with his mother and his sister or crazy things he gets into with his friends, and Yuri will tell him about the dinner he made for his grandfather and Viktor and the Katsudon’s latest idiotic _thing_. 

It's almost two-thirty in the morning when Yuri realizes he's not going to get any sleep tonight until he sees Beka, so in his darkened room, where the only light is coming from the open laptop on his bed, he video calls Beka. There's a crease between his eyebrows when he finally picks up, blinking away the harsh sliver of light that comes from his bathroom, and Yuri feels at ease. 

“What time is it?” Is the first thing Beka growls out. 

“Here? 2:28,” Yuri tells him. 

“My alarm is going to go off in two minutes,” Beka says. From anyone else it would sound like admonishment; from Beka it sounds like relief. “Can't sleep?”

“Not to save my life,” Yuri sighs. “Why are you getting up so early on a Saturday?”

“Meeting my family for breakfast in a couple hours, wanted to go for a run.”

“Oooh, you'll be able to see the sun come up during your run, huh?” Yuri asks him wistfully. 

“That's the plan.” Beka is sounding less bleary already, and he's giving Yuri one of those smiles Yuri likes so much (the one that makes him look dopey and a little bit drunk - it makes Yuri weak). 

Yuri falls back on his pillow and gets comfortable. “You should send me a picture of an Almaty sunrise.”

Beka sits up, then, taking his phone with him. It shakes a little and he's saying something to Yuri about the sunrise, but Yuri isn't listening because there, in the sliver of light coming into the room from Beka's en suite, from where he'd just been laying is -

“Beka, what is that?”

Beka's eyebrows furrow in sleepy confusion as he turns back to look. There is alarm in his wide eyed expression as he darts a look back at Yuri. “It's not what it looks like,” he rushes to explain. 

The surprised grin that Yuri feels spreading over his face is borne of a pure, unadulterated urge to tease. “Oh, yeah? Because it _looks_ like one of those Japanese body pillows I keep seeing on the Yuri's Angels Instagram. Is that was it is, Beka?” 

Even in the dark Yuri can see Beka's blush. He's stammering, embarrassed, very clearly searching for a way to explain away what Yuri has seen. 

“That's my hoodie!” Beka retorts, as if distraction can save him now. 

Yuri looks down at the sweater he's wearing and puts the hood up. “Sure is. You left it here when you visited for my birthday, so I wear it sometimes when I can't sleep. Nice try,” Yuri grins before pressing on. “Why do you have one of those pillows?”

It goes on like that for another minute; Beka stammers and doesn't bother making excuses while Yuri pokes and prods at him good naturedly. 

“Yes,” Beka snaps abruptly, his expression now hard and determined, and then he blurts out, “I masturbate with it. This is exactly what it looks like.”

Yuri's world tilts on its axis; everything goes a little bit sideways and if Yuri were standing his knees would be buckling. As it is he can vaguely feel the blank look of shock that's taken over his face and the flush that's crawling like wildfire up his chest and throat and cheeks. Beka just looks… ashamed. 

“I'm sorry you had to find out like this,” he murmurs, not looking at Yuri. “I have to go.”

“B-Beka, wait!” Yuri cries hastily before he can disconnect the call. “I… me, too. I think about you, too, when I...” (this blush might burn him alive) “when I wear your hoodie, sometimes.”

Yuri thinks he sees Beka smile; he might even nod once, softly, before meeting Yuri's eyes through the phone for a split second. And then the call disconnects. Yuri's phone barely leaves his hand before he's reaching into his briefs to hastily bring himself off. 

Yuri thinks he sleeps. He's not entirely sure, but an Instagram notification comes through from Beka at some point. It's a selfie, backlit by a glorious sunrise coming over the mountains. Beka's dark hair is glistening with sweat and he's got a still sleepy smile on his face. The caption is simple, and directed right at him. 

_@yuri-plisetsky, Almaty says Қайырлы таң_

Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr all crash within the hour. 

They don't talk about it. At all. Yuri likes the picture, but they don't mention the pillow or the hoodie for a month and a half. When Yuri can't take it anymore, he books a flight to Almaty.  
\---

**June, Almaty**

Yuri's a little nervous stepping off the plane. This visit is meant to be a surprise, but it was very difficult on the plane to not take pictures from the air. He did, but he hasn't posted any. Almaty is beautiful in June, if not a little too fucking warm. The cab he slides into outside the airport is stuffy and humid, and Yuri growls out a request for air conditioning as soon as he's settled. 

He gives the cabbie Beka's address and slides his headphones on to pass the time between the airport and Beka's flat. Yuri has a plan; after their revelations, after finding out Beka is just as attracted to Yuri as Yuri is to him, this is just the natural next step… isn't it? Yuri's been thinking about this a lot since… well, honestly, since the first time they awkwardly navigated the topic of sex during one of their late night FaceTime conversations. And that had been _months_ before the incident with the pillow. In the simplest terms, there's no one else Yuri trusts enough to share his first time with. In less simple, more honest terms, there's no one else in the world Yuri could imagine sharing his first time with because Beka is special, the bond Yuri shares with him is _something more._

Despite having his mind made up, though, Yuri is nervous. He's come all the way here unannounced, without really thinking it through, and what if… what if he's seeing someone? What if he doesn't _want_ to be Yuri's first? What if he prefers his partners with more experience? What if the feelings he has for Yuri are just sexual? What if they _do,_ and then Beka doesn't want anything else from him? What if it's a disaster?

The cabbie pulls up to Beka's building and Yuri hands him a credit card (Yakov’s, technically, but Yuri has an allowance on his copy of the card and the exchange rate is easy enough). He signs his name on the cabbie’s phone and gets out of the cab with his overnight bag in hand. His heart is racing as he climbs the stairs to Beka's third floor apartment, going over and over in his mind what he wants to say. 

Beka's front door looms at the end of the hall, both a daunting certainty and the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. Yuri can feel his limbs trembling; his palms are going clammy with nerves and there's a part of Yuri that wonders if this is the kind of anxiety the Katsudon feels every time he steps onto the ice. Beka's door is right in front of him now, an unconquerable wall built of whitewashed wood, and Yuri's fingertips are tingling when he curls his hand into a fist and knocks. 

Beka's voice is somewhere inside, calling out something in Kazakh. _Hold on,_ maybe, or _I'm coming_. Yuri hastily opens Instagram and posts the picture he's had queued up since the plane touched down: the Almaty skyline from the air, all sunny blue skies and the colorful curves of architecture that Almaty boasts. The door opens just as Yuri is pressing Post, and _there's Beka_. He's wearing a loose pair of basketball shorts and nothing else, his hair damp and disheveled from a recent shower, and he looks like he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

The silence they fall into feels thick enough with some unnameable tension that Yuri's sure he could slice right through it if he could only find the right words. The script he'd had planned out has escaped him. 

“Yura…” Beka finally says, his voice unreadable. “What… what are you doing here?”

He doesn't sound upset, exactly, or disappointed that Yuri's there, but it's certainly not the smiling reception he'd been hoping for. 

“Surprise,” Yuri says weakly. “I had the weekend off. I wanted to see you. I wanted to surprise you.”

Beka manages a smile - a real one: mouth curled up on one side with a hint of teeth - and steps back to let Yuri in. He barely gets over the threshold before Beka's wrapping up in a tight hug. His skin is warm and hard where it presses up against Yuri's chest, his back satin smooth beneath Yuri's hands as he clutches him. When Beka loosens his hold he doesn't let Yuri go far, and their faces are mere centimeters apart. Yuri can count his eyelashes, and he's about to start doing just that when Beka's gaze darts down to Yuri's mouth. Their noses brush up against each other, and Yuri's heart is _racing._

“I had a whole speech prepared,” Yuri whispers. 

“Yeah?” Beka asks, and he dips his head to drag his lips over Yuri's ear and whispers, “Let's hear it, then.”

Yuri would love to. He really would, but with Beka's hands spread across his flanks, his thumbs making tantalizing little circles over his ribs, it's suddenly hard to think. 

“Show me,” are the words that come out. “I can't stop thinking about the things you do to that pillow. _Show me._ ”

He feels Beka's breath catch, feels something twitch down near his hip and thigh, and Yuri is on _fire_ again. The apartment boasts that artificial chill of an air conditioning unit that Yuri's never been able to completely get used to, but with the long hard lines of Beka's body against his own Yuri feels like he's just tucked himself back into that stuffy taxi. 

“Are you sure that's what you want, Yura?” 

“It's _all I can think about,_ ” Yuri insists, arching against Beka to _show him_ just how much he wants this. “I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you, Beka?”

Beka draws their mouths together in lieu of a response and Yuri's entire universe shifts and aligns. The soft slide of Beka's tongue is a welcome surprise, but not as much as the hands are, slipping underneath Yuri's shirt to paw at his skin. Those hands don't stay though; he palms Yuri's ass overtop of his leggings and hoists him up. Yuri goes willingly, wraps his thighs around Beka's waist and clutches him. Beka carries him through the apartment and a minuscule part of Yuri is aware that he's never really seen Beka's home before, but he refuses to stop kissing him long enough to look. 

The bed rushes up to meet him, and Yuri's back sinks into a plush mattress and soft cotton sheets. Beka's hands are hard at work peeling Yuri's clothes off piece by piece and before he knows it, Yuri's spread out across Beka's bed in nothing but his briefs. Beka's staring, his gaze drinking in every centimeter of flesh Yuri has to offer him, and he looks drunk on it. 

“You're even more beautiful than I thought you'd be,” he murmurs, mesmerized. 

He goes to his knees on the floor and runs his palms up the insides of Yuri's thighs, gently spreading them a little further apart. He's saying something, asking Yuri a question, but Yuri's brain has wholly disconnected and he can't find any meaning behind Beka's words. His mouth is dry and he's trembling with want. He is so aroused he wants to scream, because Beka is _right there_ and not touching him. There's a nervous tension along the lines of Beka's shoulders and Yuri is at once relieved and frustrated that Beka seems to be just as anxious about this as he is. 

“Please, Beka,” he whispers shakily, reaching out to him, “I'm going to lose my mind if you don't touch me soon.”

Slowly - _so_ slowly - Beka drags Yuri's briefs down his thighs. The artificially cool air in the apartment is a shock to his heated flesh, hard and leaking from the tip, but then Beka engulfs him in the wet heat of his mouth and Yuri's brain short circuits. He is vaguely aware of his fingers clenching in Beka's hair, of his thighs quivering and clenching around Beka's ears, of his back arching off the mattress. He knows the strangled whimpers he hears are coming from him, and a part of him is ashamed of them. But _God._ Beka's mouth is _on him_. That's Beka's tongue dragging roughly up the underside of his cock and Yuri feels undone with it. Those are Beka's shoulders holding his ass up, his hands winding around to pinch Yuri's nipples and scrape fingernails down his ribs. 

Beka pulls off of him with a wet little pop and stares up at Yuri from his position on the floor between his legs. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Beka asks, his voice weak. “Are you sure you're ready?”

“I'm ready,” Yuri hastens to assure him, and there's an anger in hip that's threatening to tear him up. How _dare_ Beka suggest he hasn't thought this through, at great length, torturing himself over everything that might go wrong. He sits up, pushes his hair out of his face to see Beka fully. In truth, along with how much he has agonized over it, Yuri has been half-cocked since he boarded the plane in St. Petersburg; there's no question this is what he wants. 

“Tell me something, Yura,” Beka whispers, not breaking eye contact even as he noses at the root of Yuri's cock. “When you think about us, like this,” he pauses to lick at Yuri's balls, a teasing glint in his eye, “late at night while you're wearing my sweater… what do you think about? Specifically.”

Yuri swallows hard against the tightness in his throat. He'd never intended to admit to any of this, but with Beka right there, using it as a bargaining chip, well…

“Me on my hands and knees,” he forces out, “you behind me. You, opening me up with your tongue and fingers. And then, me in your lap. Usually we come together, but not always. You always come insi- _ah! Beka, oh, fuck._ ”

He's got a thumb pressed to Yuri's hole. He's not quite pushing inside but the promise of it is there in the electric currents that flow between them. Yuri forces himself to relax, falling back onto Beka's bed and letting his legs spread open further. Beka finally looks away from his face to focus on Yuri's hole, on the place where his thumb rubbing circles over his rim. He looks awestruck, like he can't believe how lucky he is. He looks the way Yuri thought he'd feel in this moment. Instead he is overcome with a fond sort of irritation. 

“Oh my god, Beka, do _something_ already, before I relegate you to the sidelines and make you watch while I fuck myself on the first vaguely phallic shaped object I find in your house.”

“That position you like, get into it,” Beka demands, shoving Yuri up the bed and standing. 

Yuri's got every intention of getting on his hands and knees. Really, he does, but just before he turns over Beka shoves his basketball shorts to the floor and Yuri can't take his eyes off of him. 

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, and Beka’s eyes dart up to meet Yuri’s. Yuri gulps. “ _Thick._ ”

Beka looks away with an embarrassed smile. “Still want to do this?”

“Uh, _yeah?_ ” Yuri’s almost offended he feels he has to ask _again_ , honestly. 

Beka quirks a teasing brow at him. “So why are you still staring at me and not doing what I told you to?”

“Yes, sir.” It's supposed to be sarcastic, but the way Beka swallows hard and grips the base of his dick is giving Yuri other ideas. Maybe for next time. For now, though, he pretends not to notice, moving himself to put his ass in the air, and the mattress dips and creaks behind him. 

Beka's hands are warm on his skin, the thumbs gripping his ass cheeks to spread him for Beka's hungry eyes. The first swipe of Beka's tongue over his hole has Yuri shuddering. His fingers clench in the sheets and he has to physically restrain himself from pressing back against Beka's mouth. Beka's getting him wet, licking and sucking and shoving his tongue as deeply into Yuri as it will reach, and Yuri is doing his best not to squirm. He can hear himself making those little noises again, breathy and weak, and he feels his entire body heat with an embarrassed blush. 

Beka is moaning, too, the vibrations of his voice rumbling into and all around Yuri. The first finger Beka slides into him goes in easily, and he's moving it in and out, licking all around before Yuri even has a moment to catch his breath. He takes his time opening Yuri up, savoring every twitch of his muscles and murmuring soft words of encouragement against his skin. 

“You're doing so well, Yura,” he coos. “ _Сондай әдемі._ ”

_So beautiful._

“I'm… Beka, I'm ready,” he manages between shaky breaths.

Slowly, Beka moves away from him and Yuri flops to his back to watch as Beka opens a drawer in the table by his bed. He rummages for a moment, there's the sound of a box being opened, the crinkle of a foil condom packet, and Yuri is suddenly lightheaded at the realization that _this is it._

“Beka, wait,” he blurts out, and he feels a little ashamed when Beka's expression morphs. He looks like a kicked puppy. “No, it's just… what are we, after this? Friends? Boyfriends? Something else?”

Beka fiddles with the packet in his hand, not really avoiding Yuri's eyes but not exactly making it a point to look right into them either. “I've never… I've never been in love before, Yura, but if I had to guess I think… I think that's probably what I feel for you.”

Yuri wants to scream his delight, wants to call every news publication in the world and scream at them that Otabek Motherfucking Altin _loves him,_ but instead he just smiles and nods and takes the condom from Beka's trembling hands. 

“Me, too,” he whispers, just before taking Beka's mouth in another gentle kiss. Together they pop open a half used bottle of lubricant and spread it around Yuri's hole; Beka's fingers dip gently into him again and it takes three tries before Yuri is able to tear open the condom wrapper with slick fingers. He rolls it down the stiff silky skin of Beka's erection. Beka gasps at his touch. When the condom is secure, Beka slides back to the head of the bed and props himself into a sitting position against a stack of pillows (the Yuri pillow is suspiciously absent) and the head board. 

Yuri's heart is a wild flutter in his chest as he climbs into Beka's lap. They're chest to chest, Beka's mouth in just the right place to nip at Yuri's throat and collarbone. 

Beka lines himself up and whispers, “Ready?”

“Beka if you ask me that _one more - ah!_ ”

Beka is all the way inside him before Yuri can even finish his threat. He's stretched to his limit, Beka's cock spearing him wider than he's ever been before. It's disorienting. Yuri breaks out in shivers and a cold sweat almost immediately, even as he's certain the fire inside him will scorch him alive. They stay like that for a moment that stretches on for _hours._ Slowly, Yuri loosens the grip he has on Beka's shoulders. The sharp burn where they're connected is giving way to a dull throb that demands action. Yuri gives an experimental roll of his hips and his world explodes into fragments of light and color, and in the center of it all is -

“Beka. Oh my god, Beka, please move with me.”

He does; his thrusts are slow at first, cautious like he's trying to be gentle, but the more vigorously Yuri rocks against him, the more aggressive Beka's movements become. For awhile it's, admittedly, a bit of a mess. They can't seem to find a rhythm that works for them, and when they do it's ruined after a few thrusts because one or the other gets a little too rambunctious. 

“Slow down a little,” Beka suggests, taking Yuri's hips in his hands and guiding him to move in little circles. It feels amazing, and it drags Beka's cock over Yuri's prostate again and again until he's whimpering and dragging his fingernails across Beka's shoulder blades. “Good,” Beka groans. “So good, Yura. You're so perfect, kitten.”

Yuri's pretty sure no one's ever called him kitten like _that_ before, and where it would normally incite a rage in him that could burn the offending asshole to the ground, here it merely incites a whimper that sounds more like a mewl. Together, with Beka's hands guiding his hips, they keep that rhythm and speed up. From the circles they've been making with their hips they upgrade to rolling waves. From there the _smacksmacksmack_ of skin against skin grows louder and louder, enough to nearly drown out the groan and squeak of Beka's mattress. 

Yuri loses track of time and space, forgets everything in the world aside from Beka's bed and Beka's breaths and Beka's face and Beka's cock buried so deeply inside him he's positive they've been fused together by now. They're kissing and biting at each other's lips, they're whispering each other's names, singing praises and screaming their joy in their native tongues. The entire universe is crashing down around them; nothing matters except _this moment._ Everything shifts and aligns and if Yuri were a believer he'd be sure he is experiencing God. As it is God and the Devil both reside within the man beneath him, clutching Yuri's face between his hands and kissing him like he will suffocate otherwise, like he is trying to smother Yuri right along with him. 

Yuri's orgasm catches him off guard and he barely has time to separate himself from Beka's mouth to arch and gasp, “I'm-!”

And then he is. His vision whites out and he hears himself shout Beka's name, feels himself constrict tight around Beka's dick as he empties himself in excess between them. There's so much come Yuri distantly wonders if he should feel embarrassed, but then Beka's hands are like a vicegrip on his ass cheeks, pressing them together and spreading them apart in time with his own slow, deep thrusts as he twitches to his own completion. The only sound he makes is a sharp intake of breath and the tiniest of grunts, his face buried in Yuri's neck and shoulder. And then it's done. 

They clutch each other in the aftermath, shivering, their breaths shallow. It feels unreal, like it hasn't happened yet at all and like its happened a thousand times already. Something - everything - has clicked wholly into place. Absurdly, Yuri thinks about Viktor and the other Yuuri, how the first time Yuri saw them again after leaving Japan, they were somehow the same… but different. 

Beka is the one to finally break the silence, and when he does it's with, “Do you believe in soul mates?”

Yuri laughs. He can't help it; it's like Beka plucked the word from his subconscious before it was even fully formed. He laughs a little more and then he cries because -

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, and you know what? I didn't. Before. But,” he pulls back, looks Beka in the eye, “I really do.”

Beka laughs, and then tears begin to glisten in the corners of his eyes, too, and then they're kissing again. And they keep kissing, long into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Yurio! I hope you're spending the day with your dads, your cat, and your best friend. I hope there's lots of cake involved and I hope all your birthday wishes come true.
> 
> Kazakh translations:   
> Сондай әдемі - So beautiful  
> Қайырлы таң - Good morning


End file.
